


Happiness Is Homemade

by IBoatedHere



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Baking, Bullying, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, Kitchens, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 14:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10220132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBoatedHere/pseuds/IBoatedHere
Summary: The kitchens in Bitty's life.





	

MooMaw’s kitchen is always filled with light.

It’s pouring through the windows above the sink and filtering through the blue and white checked curtains that hang above it.

Eric sits on the counter, right in the middle of a sun beam, and swings his little feet against the cabinets below as he licks brownie batter off a wooden spoon.

MooMaw has the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she uses a spatula to scrape the last of the batter into the pan.

The cord stretches from the wall and Eric extends a sock covered foot out towards it and tries to touch it with his toes.

It sags before he can get to it as she steps forward and takes the spoon from him.

He only has a second to pout before she’s putting the spatula in the bowl and the bowl in his lap and ruffling his hair.

The cord wraps around her twice as she twists to put the pan in the oven and starts to wind down the conversation.

She’s going to play cards on Wednesday afternoon and nods her head over and over again before she pulls the phone away from her ear and looks at Eric with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Eric giggles and MooMaw puts the phone back against her ear and spins out of the tangle of cord. “Of course I’ll bring pie….blueberry and peach….yes...yes...I know. Wednesday at three. Same as always.”

She rolls her eyes again and Eric laughs so hard she has to cover the speaker with her hand but doesn’t tell him to stop.

Instead she wipes her thumb across his cheek and then wipes it on her apron. It leaves a streak of flour on the red fabric.

“Okay, dear, I really have to go. Yes, Eric is here. I’ll give him a kiss for you.”

She shakes her head when Eric wrinkles his nose.

“Can that woman talk,” she says when the phone is back on the wall. “Reminds me of your mama.”

“My ears are burning,” Suzanne says from the front entry way. The door closes behind her and she slips off her shoes before walking down the hall to the kitchen. “Did my baby have a time time,” she asks, still a few feet from the opening of the kitchen and Eric says _yes_ so enthusiastically that he drops the spatula on the floor.

Suzanne picks it up, drops it in the sink, then puts her arms out towards her son.

Eric throws his arms out towards hers and MooMaw catches the bowl on his lap right before it falls.

“Did you have fun?” Suzanne crooks a finger beneath his chin. “All filled up with sugar?” She cuts a look to MooMaw who doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. “How am I supposed to get him down for a nap now?”

“Mama we’re gonna make a pie.”

“We can make three pies,” MooMaw says, “if you want to stay and help me. You can take one home with you.”

Eric wiggles in his mama’s arms and she shifts him to her hip so she can grab a chair and pull it up to the counter.

He stands between his mama and MooMaw and helps them roll out the crust and falls in love with baking right there.

*

Eric is six and sniffling as he sits on the kitchen counter with his bare feet in the kitchen sink. His mama runs cool water over the scrapes on both his knees.

He managed to get all the way home without crying.

One of the fourth graders tripped him as he was getting off the bus.

It’s not the first time that it’s happened.

He’s smaller than almost all his classmates except for a few of the girls and Coach keeps saying it’s just boys being boys whenever his teacher sends him home with a note explaining what happened during recess.

This is the first time that there’s been blood.

His mama scooped him up and set him on the counter the minute she saw him come through the back door.

“You’re getting so big,” she said as she picked him up.

But he’s not. That’s the problem. Or at least part of it.

He wiggles his toes and ties to focus on the feel of the cool porcelain against the bottoms of his feet instead of the sting of the soap as she washes out the dirt.

His palms have scratches on them too but he doesn’t want to admit it. He presses his hand against the side of the sink and tries not to flinch when his mama pats his knees with a dishcloth to dry them.

Her voice is soft when she speaks. “When your father comes home-.”

“No, please don’t tell, Daddy.” He flaps his hands in front of him and Suzanne sighs when she sees how red they are. “Please don’t tell him.”

Suzanne pushes his hair off his forehead. “How am I supposed to keep this from him, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know.” Tears are starting to fall at a steady pace now and Suzanne runs a clean cloth under cold water and blots it against his face. “Please don’t tell him. It’ll only make it worse.”

Coach has it in his head that he’s going to play football. He thinks it’ll help, somehow.

Eric knows his mama disagrees. He’s heard them arguing about it from the top of the stairs when they think he’s already gone to sleep.

_“He’s six, Richard. He’s gentle. Why would you think this is a good idea?”_

_“I’m not asking him to take a tackle, Suzie, I’m just thinking it would give him a little confidence. Put some fight in him.”_

_“You want my baby to fight?”_

_“I want him to stand up for himself. This can’t keep happening.”_

_“Richard.”_

“Honey,” Suzanne says as her fingers continue to push his hair off his forehead, “maybe it’ll help.”

Eric heaves a hiccuping sigh and he pulls his hands back to his chest at the sting of this betrayal. He always thought she was on his side.

“You don’t have to play. Just tag along with your daddy to practice. If your classmates catch wind of you hanging around with the big kids…”

“But their practice is at the same time I’m supposed to be skating and you know daddy’s not going to change the time. Please don’t make me go. I want to keep skating. I’ll be better. I’ll try harder to get along with them. I’ll be stronger. I can do it.”

Suzanne pulls him against her chest and tries to soothe him. “We’re not asking you to stop skating.”

“But that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”

“I don’t want to play football.”

“I know you don’t,” she says as she rubs her hands up and down his arms. They both know that it’s an inevitable. Like it or not a football is going to find it’s way into his hands but they might be able to put it off for a little while.

“I don’t know why they don’t like me,” Eric admits softly and Suzanne sighs and holds him tighter.

“Oh sweetpea. Sometimes these things just don’t make any sense. You’re a sweet boy, Dicky. The sweetest I’ve ever met. I want you to hold onto that, okay? It’ll all work out, I promise.”

Eric sniffles in response.

“You’re my best friend, baby.”

“You’re mine.”

Suzanne lets him go and looks him right in the eye. Hers are a little glassy with unshed tears. “And I always will be. Now.” She takes a deep breath and wipes a tear away on his cheek. “You sit right here while I go get the band aids. I’ll patch you up then you can go put on some long pants and come back down and start your homework. I’ll help you while I finish making dinner.”

“But my hands.” Pants aren’t going to cover the scrapes there. “Daddy will-.”

“Don’t you worry about your father. I’ll be right back.”

She walks away and Eric decides to trust her as he sits with the back of his wrists resting on the top of his knees.

He hears the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom close and her footsteps tracking back through the house towards him.

The band aids have Mickey Mouse on them. They help.

 

Eric’s clearing their plates after dinner and his mama is slicing pie for dessert when Coach notices the bandages on his hands.

He pulls back on the plate he was holding out to him and carefully wraps his fingers around Eric’s wrists.

“What happened here?” He doesn’t sound mad. He’s upset and worried and Eric looks over his shoulder trying to get help from his mama.

She doesn’t even look up from the pie. “He tripped coming up the back steps this afternoon. You know those backpacks keep getting heavier and heavier. I swear the amount of books they pack in there…..they think a first grader can handle all that? Of course it didn’t help that he was so excited to help me make dinner.”

“You have a good day today?” He asks and Eric nods, not trusting his voice to not give him away. He smiles and ruffles his hair and says “it’s real good to hear that,” and before he can ask a follow up Suzanne is chattering away again.

“You know I think pretty soon he’ll be able to make a whole pie unsupervised. I’m still a little nervous about him holding onto a knife to cut up the fruit but I think maybe if we start him on something small like blueberries or raspberries, you know, something that doesn’t need to be cut up, he could do it all on his own.”

Coach pushes himself up from the table and takes the plates and silverware that Eric’s supposed to be taking and drops them off in the sink.

He leans down to whisper something in her ear that makes her laugh and when she turns with pie she smiles at Eric.

He smiles back.

They’ve bought themselves some time.

*

Home Ec is a requirement for every seventh grader.

Eric is quietly ecstatic.

He’s an okay student. Maybe a little lazy and prone to procrastination, as his English teacher pointed out in comments on his report card, but he is passing all his classes.

He’d be doing a lot better in them if he was interested in the material but he’s lacks the motivation to learn a language and symbolism in writing is lost on him and while he is athletic, much to the surprise of his classmates, he doesn’t apply himself in gym. The other boys take it so seriously, acting like a game of dodgeball is a battle to the death, and Eric finds himself shrinking back from it.

There’s an oven in Home Ec and Eric can’t wait to get his hands on it.

He’s the first one in class on the first day and as the room slowly fills up the seat across from him stays empty until just before the bell rings and Ethan Green sits down.

Ethan’s on the football team by default.

He’s all angles. Tall and skinny and awkward.

Coach doesn’t have it in him to cut him since he loves the game so much and tries so hard but he doubts he’ll ever actually play. _A lot_ would have to go wrong.

He’s the backup quarterback but Eric has heard his daddy talk about him like he’d rather play his kicker in that position before he went to Ethan.

He and Eric used to be friends. Or, more accurately, Ethan didn’t pick on him during his brief stint at playing pee wee football. Probably because he wasn’t much better.

Ethan drops his books on the table and they go sliding across it into Eric’s space.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Ethan apologizes as his long arms reach to gather everything back to his side. “Sorry, Eric.”

Eric didn't even know he knew his name but he says it with a shy smile and Eric nods back.

They get paired up to work together and it’s obvious that Eric will need to carry him.

He accidentally adds too much sugar to the muffins they’re making so they have to start over and Eric has to remind him how to measure liquids the proper way at least a dozen times.

He elbows a bag of flour and knocks it to the floor where it breaks and gets all over the bottom of Eric’s jeans.

Eric takes a deep breath as Ethan picks up the bag.

“Maybe you should go sit down over there,” he says as sweetly as possible as he nods to the table. “I think I can handle it from here.”

“Okay,” Ethan said sounding a little sad and Eric tried not to let it bother him. “Sorry again. It’s just.” He sticks his lanky arms out and shrugs. “My dad thinks I’ll still grow into all this.”

“Mine thinks I could still grow another foot.”

Ethan laughs and Eric rolls his eyes. This is why Ethan sounding sad doesn’t bother him. He might be clumsy and apologetic but he’s still on the football team.

“Do you remember when you played football for a minute?” Eric’s shoulders creep up to his ears. “Yes.”

“That was really weird.” It’s not said to be malicious. It’s just a fact and Eric can’t stop himself from laughing.

“Yeah, it was.”

 

They’re not friends.

They don’t hang out or even acknowledge each other in the hall.

Eric tries to give the football team a wide berth in the hallways and the football team still closes his locker before he’s ready to shut it.

Ethan is always tagging along at the back and only gives Eric an apologetic smile when he’s sure no one else is looking.

They’re not friends no matter how proud Eric is of him when he finally cracks an egg without getting any shell in the bowl.

 

He knows he shouldn’t trust him but when Ethan asks him to help him study for an upcoming quiz he agrees.

He waits for him outside of the gym just like Ethan asked him to and is met with the rest of the football team instead.

The utility closet is damp and cold but there is a light and Eric wore a sweatshirt that day and he uses his backpack as a pillow.

 _It could be worse_ , he thinks, _somehow._

 

In the morning when the janitor lets him out Eric thanks him and walks home.

 

Suzanne’s tone is firm and final when she says they have to move.

She’s sitting as close as she can get to him since he refused to be pulled onto her lap and rubbing a hand up and down his back like that’s going to dislodge something in him.

He should be crying. He should be visible upset. The fact that he’s not must be terrifying.

“We have to leave.”

“Suzie.”

“No. This has gone on long enough. Do you really want to send your son back into that school?”

Richard takes a long look at Eric whose eyes won’t leave his shoes and his arms won’t unfold over his stomach and sighs.

“Last year the High School over in Madison was hiring. I know their record. I might be able to get in there if I try.”

“Try real hard,” his mama says and Eric knows they’re moving.

 

He stays home the next four days and then goes back.

It’ll be a few weeks before his parents can get things in order for the move and the principle had promised that there wouldn’t be any problems for him.

Too little, too late, and a total lie.

Everyone in school knows what happened.

He walks through the hall with his head down to avoid their stares but it doesn’t stop him from hearing all the whispers.

The football team had to forfeit their game. Their coach is leaving. They all blame him. Maybe they’re right to.

He’s spent his whole life wanting to be noticed by people and now that he has their attention he wants nothing more than to fade back into the fray.

His home ec teacher gives him a kind smile when he walks through the door and he ignores the way everyone stops what they’re doing to look at him.

He drops his bag on the floor and takes his seat and doesn’t look up even when Ethan sits down across from him.

“Eric,” he whispers frantically. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know that they would do that. I had no idea. They asked me to ask you to help me study and I thought….I don’t know what I thought but I didn’t think they’d do that. You know how those guys are. I had to do it. Everyone says you’re changing schools and Coach is leaving and whoever replaces him will probably drop me down to JV-.”

Eric looks up and Ethan slaps a hand across his forehead.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not just thinking about me I’m just saying-.”

“Ethan,” their teacher says. “Why don’t you switch seats with Sara for now?”

Ethan sighs and apologizes once more and Sara grumbles and rolls her eyes but she gives Eric a polite smile when she sits down across from him.

Class starts and for the first time Eric doesn’t feel like being in a kitchen.

*

The kitchen in Madison is decades newer than the one they left behind.

The tile floor isn’t cracked in front of the refrigerator and there are no scratches in the counter tops.

It’s beautiful and light and airy and the oven is bigger but Eric hates it.

He misses his old kitchen and how MooMaw was within walking distance.

“You’ll get used to it, honey,” his mama says as she hoists a box onto the island and wraps an arm around his shoulders pulling him in and kissing his head. Eric sighs. “I know moving is a lot to handle and starting school once the year has already started isn’t going to be easy, I’m not going to lie to you, but I think you’ll really like it here. I got to talking to the receptionist at the school when I called to ask what I needed to do to get you enrolled and she was just so nice. She said all the kids were great too.”

“They always seem great.”

“Now come on, Dicky.” She steps away from him and opens the box. It’s filled with dishtowels and silverware. “A little optimism might help. Anyways, I got to talking about you and your skating and she said she didn’t know of any coaches around here but she did give me this when I dropped off all your forms.” She pulls a folded up piece of paper out of the pocket of her jeans and flattens it on the edge of the counter before showing him.

Rec Hockey.

Eric stares at it and then looks up at his mother.

“I don’t play hockey.”

“You could learn.”

“I don’t know any of the rules.”

“You get the puck in the net, sweetheart.”

“There has to be more to it than that.”

“Of course there is but it’s not that hard to understand. We’ll get you a rule book and you can always look things up online. I’m sure there are tons of videos on that youtube site explaining everything.”

“I’ve never even watched a game.” He might have caught the tail end of one during the Olympics while he was waiting for the figure skating to start. _Maybe._

“I used to watch games all the time.”

“And you liked it?”

“Well. I liked the cute boys that were playing it.”

Eric takes the flyer.

“There was this one guy. Oh Dicky, I'll never forget him.” She puts her hand over her heart. “Bad B- oh hi, honey.” She cuts herself off as Coach walks in carrying a box with _Kitchen_ written on the side. Pots and pans by the sound it makes when he puts it down. “I was just telling Dicky about the hockey team. How it might be a good idea for him to try it.”

Coach grunts and Suzanne gives him _a look._

“You know your mama and I are real sorry you can’t keep up with your skating. We’d like for you to be able to but with the distance and the money…” he trails off and Eric nods. “At least you’d still be on the ice.”

“Yeah, but it’s hockey and hockey is…” All he can think of is huge men with missing teeth slamming each other into the glass and fighting.

“It’s co-ed and no contact,” his mama says quickly and Eric looks back at the flyer. “You’d probably be the fastest one on the team.”

“Is speed important?”

“Of course it is. It’ll help you meet new people, too. You’ll be on a team.” _You’ll have friends_ she doesn’t say but Eric can see it all over her face.

“It’s good to be on a team,” Coach tells him.

“There’s a few weeks before you have to sign up so you have plenty of time to think about it.” She plucks the paper from his hand, digs a magnet out of one of the boxes and sticks it on the fridge. “Just think about it,” she sing songs then tells him to get back outside and help the movers. _Please._

 

Eric does learn to love the kitchen.

There’s so much more counter space and storage and MooMaw ships him a few of her pie plates and her favorite rolling pin to help him feel closer to her.

The hockey flyer stays on the fridge and every time he opens the door for milk or butter the paper flutters in the breeze.

He stares at it while he’s waiting for the oven to preheat or for the pancakes he’s making to be ready to flip.

The pictures of the kids look happy and safe, smiling and well protected under pads and a helmet.

No Contact is bolded and underlined at the bottom.

The pie in the oven has fifteen minutes left to bake so he pulls out his phone and starts looking up hockey videos.

He gets a minute and a half into a compilation of hockey fights before he quits. So many dropped gloves. So much blood. One guy pulled two of his teeth out as he was sitting on the bench like it was nothing.

Eric takes a deep breath, says “no contact” to himself, and searches again. This time he watches the Top 10 Goals and then assists and celly’s which leads him to videos of the team hanging out. They’re bickering over who sits where on the flight to the next city or kicking a soccer ball around before the game starts and getting it stuck in the rafters so someone has to climb up and get it down.

They all look like they’re having so much fun together.

“Dicky, honestly.” Suzanne comes running into the kitchen and yanks open the oven door. Smoke billows out and Eric drops his phone to the counter. “Couldn’t you hear the timer going off or me yelling for you? You were standing right here.”

He throws a couple of pot holders at her and she pulls the pie out. A perfectly good peach pie is ruined.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Sorry mama, I was just-.”

“Trying to burn down my house?”

“No, mama.” He takes the flyer down from fridge and holds it out to her. “I think I’m gonna do it. I want to play hockey.”

*

The Haus is utter chaos.

The kitchen in the Haus is even worse.

He spends a lot of time in that horrific kitchen, cleaning it and caring for it until it’s less of a nightmare and more a bad dream.

No matter what he does there’s always a sticky spot somewhere on the floor and he’s constantly running down to the basement with armfuls of beer cans so he can make room for his sticks of butter in the fridge.

He knows he can’t complain. A kitchen is a kitchen and a stove is a stove even if this one doesn’t always come up to temperature and has a tendency to bake unevenly.

The team is appreciative of everything he bakes even if it’s a little burnt on one side because he didn’t turn the pie plate in time.

Shitty kisses his cheek and Ransom and Holster tell him that they love him.

They’re his friends. The best ones he’s ever had and something tells him that if he decided tomorrow to never bake again they’d still be there for him.

They might complain a little but he doesn’t blame them. His apple pie has even made Jack smile and that’s not something you give up easily.

 

The Haus is quiet the morning after Winter Screw.

The windows are frosty and the heat hasn’t kicked on and Bitty makes a note to ask Dex to come over and look at it.

It’s too early for Bitty to be up but he’s been unsettled lately. He’s worried about his grades and going home for winter break and how he kept comparing his date last night to-

“Jack.” He startles when he sees him standing in the doorway in a pair of boxers and a grey t-shirt.

Jack presses his fist to his mouth as he yawns and his sleepy _“morning, Bittle”_ is soft and warm, like a thick flannel draping over his shoulders. “Coffee?”

“Not yet. It’s going. I just woke up. If you want to have seat I’ll get some food going? Eggs, toast, pancakes?”

Jack nods and crosses the distance in socked feet.

Bitty meant a seat at the table but Jack hops onto the counter right next to the stove and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand.

“How was your night? I kind of lost track of you there.”

“Yeah. Left early.”

Jack drops his hands and raises an eyebrow and Bitty feels his face heat.

“Not like that.”

“Didn't like your date?”

“It's not that I didn't like him,” he says loudly. “It's just...I don’t know. I’m meeting him at Annie’s later.

Jack hums and crosses his feet at his ankles.

“You don’t sound excited.”

“He’s fine,” Bitty shrugs as he grabs Jack’s mug from the cupboard, fills it with fresh coffee, and hands it over. “He’s cute. Plays rugby. Didn’t puke on my shoes.”

“Your bar is set a little low, Bittle.”

“Yeah, well.” He cracks an egg into the bowl. Maybe it should be set low. Why should he bother getting his hopes up for something that’ll never happen. He should consider himself lucky to have what he’s got. His crush is on a boy that he’s lucky enough to call a friend. Who’s nice and helps him study and wakes up at an ungodly hour to practice checking to make sure he doesn't get cut from the team. He doesn’t have to pine from afar. He knows from experience how painful that is. Always wondering if the object of his hidden affections ever even noticed him. What he wants it right there in front of him sipping coffee and asking him if they can have french toast instead of pancakes.

He’s close enough to touch and he really wants to touch.

He needs the sugar for his coffee and the bowl is to the left of Jack so he has to lean over him.

He doesn't _have_ to put his hand on Jack's bare knee to steady himself but he does anyways.

Bitty's palm is cupping his knee and his fingers are splayed over his thigh and Jack freezes with his mug halfway to his mouth.

If he were a little braver he'd leave his hand there and look up at him through his lashes.

Instead he grabs the sugar and snatches his hand back and apologizes.

“Sorry. It's early. I'm drunk. Hungover.” He puts a spoonful of sugar into his mug and stirs, the metal against the ceramic is the only sound in the Haus.

Jack takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders and hums. “It's okay.”

Bitty puts the spoon in the sink and stares straight out the window. He knows Jack is watching him. He can feel it.

“Are you okay, Bittle? Bits?”

Jack's fingertips graze the skin on his arm and Bitty closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy it for a second before he opens them, slaps on a smile, and turns away.

“I'm fine, hun. Tired is all. You wanted French toast?”

“If it's not too much trouble.”

“Course not.”

He grabs the bread and the cinnamon and vanilla and Jack won't stop looking at him and Bitty won't look back.

In a few months Jack will graduate. He’ll leave and Bitty won't see him every day and he'll learn to get over it.

He'll settle for rugby guy or someone similar and he'll be just fine.

But for now Bitty’s falling fast and Jack sitting beside him sipping coffee and swinging his legs in the warm, heavy silence of the kitchen, completely unaware.

*

Jack doesn’t look up from his tablet when Bitty walks into the kitchen but the closer he gets to him the more the corner of his lips pull up into a smile.

Bitty knows he has him.

His smile keeps growing, steady and slow, and his eyes stay fixed on the screen even as Bitty steps in front of him.

Jack clears his throat, puts the tablet down behind Bitty and leans his hands on the counter, bracketing him in.

Bitty huffs and buries his face against Jack’s chest. His shirt smells like detergent and sweat from his morning run.

“Jack,” he whines and finally Jack gives in and rests his chin on the top of his head.

He presses one hand to the small of Bitty’s back and pulls him closer. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Your bed is so comfortable.”

“What are you doing up then? I didn’t expect to see you for a few hours.”

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Jack makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and wraps both his arms tight around him.

Bitty never expected his first time to be like this.

Bitty knows, _he knows_ , that virginity is a social construct made to make women feel like property and it’s sexist and slut shamey all the things Shitty ranted about on Sunday mornings at brunch when the team was just trying to enjoy good coffee and whoopie pies but all that came after years and years of thinking about it.

He decided to keep both feet firmly rooted in reality when he thought about it. Life is not a movie. There wouldn’t be soft music playing and a warm breeze coming through an open window gently blowing the curtains back.

He thought _at best_ it would be awkward and a little uncomfortable. He’d want it to be happening, he never doubted that, but someone else, some guy, touching him like that and touching back….

It would be fine. He’d get it over with and out of the way and it would be better the next time.

That’s what he had resigned himself to and he was okay with it.

He never expected that he’d laugh. Little breathy giggles that he couldn’t keep in as Jack’s fingers mapped their way along his skin.

He never thought about their foreheads pressing together and being so close that he could feel Jack’s eyelashes against his skin.

He lucked out. He knows not everyone’s first time is with someone that they love.

Bitty’s fingers tighten in the soft cotton of Jack’s shirt.

He’s known this for awhile. He loves Jack. He just hasn’t said anything and he’s not sure if right now- clinging to him in his kitchen and still glowing from last night- is the time to say it. Would that be too clingy or too soon? Jack’s already under so much pressure and the last thing he wants to do is add to it.

“Hey.” Jack slowly pulls back and Bitty looks up at him. There’s a red mark at the hinge of his jaw that’s going to be impossible to explain away. He should have been more careful but in the heat of the moment….

Jack raises his hand and traces a line down the side of Bitty’s neck and stops at the strap of his tank top. His brows furrow and Bitty drops his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” He presses his lips together then they spread out into a wide smile. “I gave you a hickey.”

Bitty’s hand flies up to his neck and Jack laughs.

“Sorry, Bits. Boys are going to chirp you for that.”

“Then they’ll get you too,” Bitty says as he presses his index finger to Jack’s jaw and Jack’s eyes go wide before he laughs and drops his forehead to rest on Bitty’s shoulder.

He kisses the mark on his shoulder so softly then says “we’ll have to be more careful next time,” and Bitty goes warm all over. “Bits?” Bitty hums. The edge of the counter is digging into his back but Jack’s hair is tickling his cheek and he never wants to move.

“I love you.” Jack kisses the mark once more then stands up straight and holds his hands loosely against Bitty’s hips. Jack’s giving him an out if he wants it.

Bitty responds by wrapping his arms around his neck and holding tight. “I love you too.”

Jack’s answering smile is nothing short of beautiful and Bitty tells him so.

“Stop,” Jack says, ducking his head and sounding fond and embarrassed at the same time.

Bitty says _“make me”_ and Jack leans down to kiss which leads him to pushing the forgotten tablet back on the counter to make room for Bitty when he lifts him up and steps between his knees.

“I mean it,” Jack says between kisses. “I really love you.”

“Good, I really mean it too.” He hooks an ankle around the back of Jack’s knee to bring him closer but balks when Jack slides both his hands beneath his shirt. “Jack. I bake in here.”

“No you don’t.”

“Well, not yet but I will. So many pies are going to be made in this kitchen. Right on this counter.”

“Right on this counter,” he asks, as he taps his fingers against the marble and Bitty nods. “We’re just gonna have to take this somewhere else then.”

“You are such a dork,” Bitty laughs until Jack hooks his hands under Bitty’s knees to pull them tighter against his hips and loops his arms around his waist to lift him off the counter top. _“Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Jack breathes the word and looks at him with wide, blue eyes like everything’s just hitting him.

They’re in love. They can do this.

“Bedroom?” Bitty asks and Jack nods and starts walking them down the hall.

He’ll make pies in that kitchen.

He’ll make them for as long as he can and he’ll put a ton of love into each one.

But right now he lets Jack carry him down the hall. He has other things to do.

*

Bitty’s at the sink elbow deep in dishwater and absentmindedly scrubbing at a tart pan.

All of his attention is on Jack and the neighbors six year old son, Ben who are out in the backyard taking turns throwing the Frisbee to Charlie.

Charlie is still quick, although not as quick as he used to be, and every time he catches it out of the air Ben bursts out laughing and throws his arms around Charlie when he drops the Frisbee at his feet.

It’s adorable and Bitty could stand at the sink for hours watching them.

Jack bends down on one knee and shows Ben how to hold the Frisbee the right way and Ben tries his best but it only goes five feet at most.

Charlie doesn’t care. He bolts after it, tearing up the grass and dropping it back at Ben’s feet with his tail wagging.

They keep throwing the Frisbee until Charlie’s too tired to go after it and sits down at Jack’s feet. He leans against Jack’s shins and Jack scratches behind his ear as they watch Ben waves the Frisbee in front of his face trying to get him to chase it when he throws is.

Ben ends up running after it himself until his mom calls him home to start his homework.

He hugs Charlie and licks his cheek. Ben wipes his face on his sleeve then throws his arms around Jack and hugs his knees.

Jack hugs him back as best he can with one hand on the middle of his back and the other in his hair and then Ben’s skipping away back to his house.

Jack raises his hand to wave at his mother then snaps his fingers to tell Charlie it's time to go inside.

Bitty picks up his wedding band from the dish he keeps it in while he washes the dishes and is sliding it on his finger when Jack opens the kitchen door and Charlie comes bounding in.

Jack wipes his shoes on the mat then leans into his husband with a hand on the side of his face and kisses him.

His hand and his lips are cool from the early autumn air and Bitty holds onto the front of his shirt to keep him close and help warm him up.

“Did’ja have fun?” Bitty asks when they part.

“Yeah. I know Charlie did.”

Charlie lifts his head from his water bowl when he hears his name and pants in their direction. Water drips everywhere and Bitty frowns.

“No manners, Charlie,” Bitty says with a shake of his head and Charlie wags his tail and goes back to drinking. “It looked like Ben had fun.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“He loves you.”

“He loves Charlie.”

“He hugged you.” Bitty pokes him in the chest. “I know. I watched. It was cute.”

Jack bites his lip. He looks like he’s trying to figure out what he wants to say and Bitty is happy to wait.

“You did the dishes,” Jack settles on and Bitty knows right away that’s not what he wants to say. “I told you I would do them when I came in.”

Bitty crosses his arms over his chest. “Jack.”

“You cooked. I could at least clean.”

“Honey.”

“You should really let me help out more. I'm going to be on the road pretty soon and I won't get to.”

“Jack, honey, what's the matter?”

Jack puts his hands on his hips and furrows his brow and Bitty braces himself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.

“Do you want to have a kid?”

Bitty's not _not_ expecting that. They've talked about it before they even got engaged but…

Bitty hasn't said anything and Jack has this panicked look in his eye and Bitty grabs his hands.

“Sweetheart, calm down. You want to have a baby?”

“Maybe not a baby. Maybe a kid, you know, one that’s Ben’s age. They could play together with Charlie.”

Charlie's feet click across the floor and he sniffs at their joined hands before he pads into the living room and curls up on his bed with a heavy sigh.

“I think we’d be good parents, don't you?”

“You'd be the best,” Bitty says and means it.

Jack squeezes his hand. “We’re a team, Bits. It's you and me.”

Bitty rolls his eyes and shakes his head and tugs on Jack’s hand until he lists forward and hugs him.

“You’re such a dork, Jack. Still. You haven’t changed at all.”

“You don’t want me to.”

Bitty leans up on his toes and hooks his chin over Jack’s shoulder and looks at the life they’ve created together. This beautiful kitchen in this beautiful house with great neighbors and the best dog anyone could ever have. There are two Stanley Cup rings in the safe in the bedroom.

They love each other just as much as they did in the beginning. Bitty still gets that rush he felt when Jack first kissed him every time their lips touch. They’ve got love to spare.

“No,” Bitty whispers and Jack rubs his hand up and down his back. “I don’t ever want you to change.”


End file.
